Time and Money
by Mookie Riffic
Summary: Oneshot, PostRENT.Philosophers have always tried to figure out the meanings of time and money, and their connection. One man figures it out by becoming drunk and trying on somoenelse's shoes.


Title: Time and Money

In the city that never slept time was ambiguous. Was one AM early in the morning, or late at night? What defined time? The definitions of time vary widely, they include the continuum of experience in which events pass from the future through the present to the past, and also encompass a moment when it is time to leave a given place. Philosophers have tried to understand the concept of time from the beginning of it, from the moment that they first called into question "How do we measure a life?"

One philosopher sought to understand time, sought to know what made it happen, what made it tick and so important to mortal's lives. The only thing he ever managed to learn about time is that there is never enough of it. Other, more famous philosophers have said that "All that really belongs to us is time; even he who has nothing else has that", and a yet more famous one, the same that said that the meaning of life is forty-two stated that "Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so." A Greek philosopher once said that "Time is the most valuable thing a man can spend."

Spending implies money. "If money is made your God, it will plague you like the devil." Money also is what divides the rich from the poor, and the poor from poverty. Only those who are poor know the meaning of giving, and only those who are rich know the meaning of leisure. No matter how rich or how poor you are, when you die the size of your funeral will depend on one thing: the weather. Making money should always be in the brain, but not the heart.

Money is time. Time is money.

At this moment in time, in a bar at a maximum distance of - does it matter? Of course not. But in a little metropolis, on the North American continent, there is a bar, and in this bar there is a man that is throwing away both his money and his time in an effort to get completely drunk.

Drunk: to be intoxicated.  
Intoxicated: to be drunk.

Life it turns out is a lot like definitions: a circle that never ends.

Now, back to the subject, this man, who just threw away his valuable time and money, and we know they're valuable for time equals money, and thus money equals time, is staggering home to his apartment. In his apartment this man sat down on the couch and proceeded to look around at the boxes he saw stacked up in the corner of the room. Each box was labeled neatly with a photograph and a name. The names were all written in various colors, one in a bright lime green said A-N-G-E-L. Another had the letters M-I-M-I scrawled with a dark mysterious purple color. In a royal blue one box said C-O-L-L-I-N-S, with the letters t-o-m in parenthesis. On the last box the letters R-O-G-E-R were carved into the side with a black marker.

The man stared at the boxes, wondering at their purpose. Wondering why he kept them after all the years. It had been three years since the last of the letters had been written, and still the boxes sat there, untouched. Made bold by the time and money he had already wasted the man grabbed the first box, the oldest of them all, the one with the lime green writing. He dragged it over to himself, and started pulling out the contents. The man did not have any expression until he reached the bottom of the box. The box was empty with the contents, the clothing, surrounding him.

It wasn't enough, the man needed more comfort. He looked at the clothing laid out, and carefully picked up a shirt. With out thinking the man put it on, and followed it closely by adding a skirt. The man shrugged off his trousers, and picked up a pair of tights. He spent a moment trying to figure them out, and then put them on, the nylon feeling weird as it slid and clung to his muscular legs.

There was a pair of shoes in the box, complete with a price tag still attached, and he wondered if they would fit. He had never thought about the difference between men and women shoe sizing, besides thinking that it was incredibly silly and stupid. What luck! The shoe fit.

Finally, the man picked up a wig, it had long blond hair, and which was the same shade as his own hair. He slipped the wig over his head, and pushed the hair behind his ears. The movement seems so foreign to him, the hair strange.

The man stood in the middle of the mess he created, wearing clothes that weren't his, and didn't care. Whether it was the knowledge that he the owner was never going to come back and claim the belongings, or the alcohol running through his system, he stalked over to the door and flung it open. Stepping out of the loft apartment he walked down the six flights of steps to the street and walked into the middle. He stood there for a moment before a stranger approached him. "Hey cutie. Whats your name?"

The man looked at the stranger, a tall male with a moderate build, brown hair, striking ice grey eyes, and a friendly smile and responded.

"My name is... Marcie."

Maybe time wasn't equal to money.

Maybe money wasn't equal to time.

Time the man decided as he shared drinks with the stranger was best spent in company. Money was best spent on having a good time.

Philosophers had not figured out how to figure out what the most ideal way to measure time was, but for one moment, the man, and his new friend learned that time was best measured in love.

A/n: Thought of this while I was getting my hair cut, just a one shot.


End file.
